


The Last to Know

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Booty Call, Draco is a stroppy queen, Draco is incredibly thick, Draco's thirsty, Frottage, Group Texting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Neville delivers, Neville plays a long game, Post-War, canon-divergent, snape lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: After a heavy night of drinking, Draco puts out a call for help in the group text. Neville arrives to lend a hand. Or, Draco and Neville are in a relationship and Draco has no idea.





	The Last to Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John/gifts), [meansgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meansgirl/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to Char & Colleen for their love of Dreville and their fine, fine inspiration.
> 
> This is my first HP fic, please don't be too harsh. I'm going to run away now. But before I do, I have to tell you that the working title for this fic was 'GrubHub...PornHub...same-same.'

There were a lot of things that Muggles did that Draco thought were just sad. He no longer thought they were beneath Wizards, but he did pity them for always having to do things the hard way. Some things were nice though. Mobile phones for instance,  _ brilliant _ inventions. 

 

Squinting his eyes preventatively against the threat of the light from his screen, Draco brought his messaging app up and scrolled til he found the group text they'd used last night.  _ How on earth did I end up friends with Gryffindors _ , he thought a touch sourly. Seven years after the end of the War and it still puzzled him. Tapping out his message, he tossed the phone aside and flung an arm over his face. 

 

He'd had  _ faaaar _ too much to drink the night before, but thanks to his forethought in taking a potion when he got home, he wasn't exactly hungover. Just hungry and horny and in a foul mood. It had been three months since he'd gotten a leg over and he was more gloriously beautiful than ever. Being friends with Potter (that annoyingly perfect, stupidly modest git) had given his reputation a boost, his job in the PR department of the Ministry gave him prestige and access to  _ all _ the social events in the Wizarding world, and his new leather trousers made his admittedly fantastic arse even  _ more _ fantastic. Heavenly, really. 

 

So there was no reason he shouldn't have pulled last night or any night of the last three months. Draco scowled blackly, there was a good chance he had been cursed. It was possible. Despite his general acceptance there were those who still despised him for being a former Death Eater. Trying to decide if he should try to fall back asleep or wander downstairs to rummage for food, Draco twisted restlessly in his lonely bed. He truly couldn't decide if he was hungrier for food or some cock. Before he could decide, his doorbell pealed sonorously, and he groaned theatrically. “Go. Away.” It was probably just someone like Granger knocking up decent people at an ungodly hour on a Sunday to proselytize to them about whatever outrage was being touted now.

 

There was blessed silence for a few minutes, and then:  **_dong!_ ** “Fuck off!” Draco snarled and flounced onto his side dragging the tangled bedding over him. Eventually they'd give up and go away. 

 

Only they didn't. Finally, with very bad grace, Draco stood, hauling the duvet around him into a rough toga and stalked down the stairs, breathing fire. He was going to eviscerate whoever had dared to disturb his Sunday. “ _ What _ do you want?” He demanded, hauling the tall, heavy door open. 

 

Looking entirely too sunny and with it, Neville fucking Longbottom stood on the stoop, mouth quirked, golden-brown eyes bright. The summer sun shone through a light mist which was falling, and it gilded him in pale gold light and diamond drops of rain. Smiling slightly, he held up both hands; from one hand dangled a carrier with two condensation-beaded sodas, and the other was clutching two bulging sacks of… McDonald's. 

 

Draco felt his eyes widen against his will, and his breath stuttered. “Well that was fast,” he managed to drawl, and stepped back, letting his duvet drop, revealing his marble-white, perfectly proportioned (if-possibly-slightly-too-thin) frame. “Won't you come in?”

 

Bringing with him the smell of cheeseburgers and a palpable air of sexual predation Neville stepped across the doorway and into Malfoy House. The door clunked closed behind him and left them regarding one another warily. “You hungry?” Neville asked at last, voice heavy with meaning. 

 

“Indeed,” Draco purred, stalking him. “I'm gonna eat...but not food.”

 

Neville's eyes flared with lust and he barely had time to set the food and drinks down before Draco was on him, pushing him against the wall with a clunk. Neville's hands came up and caught him by the hips and he pulled Draco to him firmly, slotting their groins together, and kissed him. Draco swallowed an altogether too romantic sounding sigh and melted into him, tangling his fingers in Neville's stupid silky hair, biting at his stupid plump lips and smirking at the moan it garnered. 

 

“Bed?” Neville mumbled against his mouth, cupping Draco's arse in his stupid big hands. 

 

“You're such a boring, uncreative Gryffindor,” Draco snarled, “A  _ bed? _ Is that the best you can do?”

 

“I can fuck you here against the wall, if you like,” Neville said mildly, nibbling on his neck. Draco hated it.

 

“I hate that. Why are you like this? Fuck me,” Draco whined. 

 

Obligingly Neville removed his lips from Draco's neck and straightened a little. “You're a bossy little shit,” he said, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. 

 

“Don't  _ stop _ ,” Draco stomped his foot and tugged on Neville's hair, pulling him down so he could smash their mouths together, “Stop being so polite.”

 

“I  _ am  _ polite,” Neville laughed, and surprised Draco by lifting him with damnable ease and turning so Draco was against the wall. Draco wrapped his legs around Neville's waist and arched into him when Neville ground their hips together. “So polite that I'll make sure you come first,” he breathed, and resumed nibbling distractingly on Draco's neck. 

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ , yeah, just like that,” Draco breathed, and dug his nails into Neville's shoulders. The annoying pillock felt wonderful, and Draco hated him just a little for being so fucking sexy. “I hate you,” he reminded Neville, licking his collarbone. 

 

“I'm aware,” Neville responded dryly, “as you never fail to remind me.” It didn't seem to bother him overly, which was annoying, but Draco dismissed it as unimportant for now. 

 

“You have too many clothes on,” he complained, and yelped when Neville fucking Longbottom did a wandless spell and vanished his clothes in an instant. Draco refused to find it hot. “Show off.”

 

“Oh shut it,” Neville groaned, smile pulling at his mouth. His eyes glowed hotly, “You're too mouthy… I'll have to find a way to shut you up…”

 

“Promises, promises…” but Draco was distracted, shuddering at the feel of Neville's hot, hard length against him. Their cocks lined up perfectly and they lost no time in rocking together, groaning at the delicious friction. Drawing furrows in Neville's back with his nails, Draco decided that it felt so distractingly good that surely Neville wouldn’t notice if Draco kissed him on the mouth. This wasn’t a  _ romance. _

 

Neville had a fantastic mouth though. 

 

For a Gryffindor.

 

With a further display of skill, Neville effortlessly summoned lube and coated his palm, taking Draco firmly in his hand. The slick, wet glide of their cocks nuzzling in Neville’s hot grip nearly made Draco come on the spot. But he was made of sterner stuff than that. Well, sort of. In this instance, however, he refused to pop off like a schoolboy.

 

_ Merlin, imagine if we’d been doing this when we were in school, _ Draco thought, and felt his lust increase at the thought of Neville in all his strapping eighteen year old glory. All honour and bravado and floppy brown fringe.  _ He’d probably have given me a proper shag over the nearest table as punishment for what a shit I was all those years. _ The idea was positively delicious, and Draco wondered if he could find his old school robes. Maybe Neville’d like a little roleplay…

 

Not that there was anything lacking in what was happening now. A fact of which Draco became screamingly aware when Neville fucking Longbottom shifted his grip and dragged his hand over the sensitive head of Draco’s cock. His eyes rolled back and he dug his fingers into the meat of Neville’s damnably fit shoulders as he chased the sensation. 

 

“You like that?” Neville asked, voice low and rough, dragging his lips over the corded tendons of Draco’s neck. He grazed his carotid with the edge of his teeth and flicked his wrist and Draco came screaming. The hall echoed to the sounds of his howling orgasm, punctuated by the swift, moist thud of Neville’s fist flying along his own length and slapping his flat stomach. Draco set his teeth in Neville’s collarbone and growled, “Come already, damn you,” and grinned in triumph when Neville did just that.

 

They hung panting against the wall, Neville’s limp weight the only thing pinning Draco in place. It felt marvelous. He hated it. “I hate you.”

 

“I missed you too,” Neville laughed breathlessly, and let Draco’s legs slide down until his bare feet were on the cool marble tiles. He leaned in to kiss him and Draco jerked away, scowling. “Hey--”

 

“I’m hungry,” Draco announced haughtily, and snatched up the bags, stalking towards the sitting room and it’s long, comfy sofa. The sofa was familiar territory, as was his dismissive attitude. They’d had sex there loads of times. Also the entry wall, various tables and chairs...the stairs. There wasn’t anything romantic about any of those locations. It was...expedient. Safe.

 

A man wouldn’t start daydreaming about something permanent if he never let his--his fuck buddy, yes,  _ fuck buddy  _ that was the Muggle term--past the public rooms. Letting Neville Longbottom into his bedroom was akin to letting him into his heart. The only thing he’d get for his trouble was heartache.

 

Flouncing onto the sofa, Draco swung a leg casually over the back and rustled in the bag for a burger. Neville, tucking his shirt into his trousers, leaned in the doorway. Scowling blackly, Draco bit savagely into his burger, “Why are you dressed?”

 

“I think we should talk.”

 

Draco froze, food turning to a rock in throat. Swallowing with difficulty, he raised his chin, feigning nonchalance, “If this is about Savannah Summerton, I already know.”

 

“Savannah…” Neville trailed off, “What does she have to do with it?”

 

He seemed so genuinely confused. Draco almost softened. Almost.  _ "Wizard Weekly _ and that dreadful American tabloid were both full of stories of you and the “darling of the American Wizarding World” and your whirlwind summer romance." Despite his best efforts, Draco's voice sounded distressed. He set his jaw. "You clearly had a lovely time in America and found yourself someone special...you came to break thing off because you’re a decent bloke and a bloody Gryffindor, but you needn’t bother.” Convincing himself as much as Neville, he said coldly, “It’s just sex.”

 

“Oh?” Neville asked, and if Draco had been paying attention he’d have noticed that it was the tone of the Hero of Hogwarts and said Hero was getting seriously pissed off. Neville had a notoriously long fuse but once it was lit he was dangerous.

 

“I’ve seen this coming since the first time you fucked me and left right after,” Draco said, hating how weak his voice sounded. His father would be appalled at him for having  _ emotions _ , and for a Gryffindor at that. Although he was locked up in Azkaban and not really in a position to pass judgement on anything. “You don’t owe me any explanations.” Taking in a controlled breath, he forced himself to say the words he’d been reminding himself of for months and months, “I don’t mean anything to you. Just a shag.”

 

Neville finally left the doorway and stalked across the carpet towards Draco, who suddenly felt very naked and very vulnerable. Realizing he was mangling his burger in his helplessly clenched fist, Draco jerked his chin up and tried to look cool even though there was a pickle sliding down his wrist. Neville didn’t appear to be intimidated or fooled in the slightest. Bracing one hand on the arm of the sofa and the other on the back, he leaned over Draco and glared at him. “You. Are. An. Idiot.”

 

Draco made a wordless sound of protest, but was saved from answering this outrageous charge by Neville leaning in and kissing him breathless. By the time their lips parted Draco’s back was flat on the sofa, the mangled cheeseburger had been lost somewhere amongst the cushions, and he was melded tight against Neville’s gorgeous, maddeningly perfect body. Panting, he managed a pout, “I’m not an idiot. How dare you?”

 

“Idiot,” Neville repeated, and kissed his nose. It was humiliating, more so for how wonderful it felt. Suppressing the desire to mewl like a kitten, Draco gave him a sharp look. “Draco,” Neville said patiently, smiling at him in entirely too tender a manner for the safety of Draco’s heart. “I’m not in a relationship with Savannah Summerton. I barely know her. She’s the niece of the woman I spent the summer apprenticing under and because she’s friendly and knew I didn’t know anyone in town, she took me out a lot with her friends. Because of who she is, she’s photographed a lot by the paps. If I was with her, I got photographed too. The paps made shite up because that’s what they  _ do.” _

 

“It looked--” Draco began, but was cut off by Neville.

 

“I’m not free to be in a relationship with Savannah even if I wanted to be,” Neville sighed, sounding annoyed. “I’m already taken.”

 

Draco knew he had no chance, but still his stomach clenched painfully around that blasted bite of cheeseburger. He swallowed back nausea. “Oh.” Recovering, he smiled brightly, falsely, “Anyone I know?”

 

Neville rolled his eyes, looking far less the saintly Gryffindor than usual. “Draco, you muppet, it’s  _ you.” _

 

“W-what?” Draco bleated. “What’s me?”

 

“You’re the person who’s taken me.” When Draco stared at him blankly, dumb with shocked confusion, Neville almost smiled, “We’re dating, you daft bugger.”

 

“We-we are  _ not,” _ Draco objected, rallying. “I think I’d know if I were dating you.”

 

“You’d think so,” Neville agreed so slyly that Draco pinched him. He gave a mild ‘ow’ and rubbed his side. Shifting, he cupped Draco’s jaw in his hand, golden-brown eyes tender, “I adore you, Draco, but you’re a right idiot sometimes. We’ve been dating for almost five months.” His smile was fond and a little amused, “And for the record, I didn’t ‘leave right after’ our first time. You panicked and kicked me out.”

 

That  _ did _ sound like him.  “I…”

 

“Ever since that first morning you sent that group text sniping about needing a coffee after our colossal night of binge drinking for Harry and Snape’s stag do, and I showed up with Starbucks…” Neville brushed a tender kiss over his lips, “We took each other apart before I’d barely cleared the door. Every Saturday you’d manage to get between me and every witch and wizard who so much as glanced at me in the pub, and every Sunday morning you’d send increasingly outrageous texts all but daring me to come here.” He kissed Draco again, and it was so wonderful that Draco clung to him, afraid to let go. Finally he drew back, leaving small, soft kisses on Draco’s face, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted, “I answered every time because I’m mad for you.”

 

“M-mad?” Draco whispered, unwilling to let him go. He relished Neville’s perfect, welcome weight pinning him to the cushions. “For me?”

 

“You,” Neville assured him, eyes tender, “I’ve had a thing for you for years and at first I thought all it was was a chance to get close to you. Told myself not to take it seriously because you sure weren’t. But then I realized you’re an absolute child when it comes to your own feelings and you didn’t know how to tell me you fancied me.” He shrugged, “I thought you’d say something when you were ready.”

 

Draco stared at him, still processing it all. All these months of him eating his heart out over Neville, trying to pretend it meant nothing, that he wasn’t writhing with jealousy whenever the inevitable admiring glances would come the taller wizard’s way. Acting as if he wouldn’t even notice Neville had gone when he announced he had the chance to work with his idol in the herbology world. Assuming a carefree air at Neville’s going-away party. The aching loneliness over the last few months, the hurt and fear and despair when he saw all those stories in the papers about Neville and Savannah. _ Bloody hell. _

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco yelled, swatting at Neville’s arm, “Neville fucking Longbottom you are an  _ arse!” _

 

“Me?” Neville said, not seeming all that put out; he grinned down at Draco, “Least I knew we were dating.”

 

Draco’s face flamed, “You’d better not tell anyone about this, Longbottom!”

 

“You can’t threaten me, Malfoy,” Neville smirked, settling himself between his thighs, “You forget that I know you...you’re a marshmallow. What are you gonna do? Eskimo kiss me to death?”

 

Cursing, Draco tried to hex him, but he’d always been rubbish at wandless spells, and Neville was damnably stronger than he was and just pinned him down and kissed him silly. They ended up rutting to completion, mouths locked, Draco’s legs clamped around Neville’s thighs. Lying tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, Neville hummed happily, “Now that you know we’re dating do you suppose we could do this in your bed sometime, love?”

 

He absolutely refused to be charmed. No melting because his boyfriend had called him a pet name. “Neville fucking Longbottom,” Draco said, and for the first time could hear the fondness in his voice when he said it, “you really are appallingly Gryffindor.”

 

“Get used to it,” Neville said sleepily, snuggling his head down on Draco’s stomach, “it’s probably escaped your notice, but most of your friends are Gryffindors.”

 

Draco hugged his stupid head to him and smiled goofily at the ceiling. He supposed some Gryffindors were alright.

  
  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Bloody hell!” Ron, feet up on the coffee table in he and Hermione’s tiny flat, did a double-take when he looked at his mobile. “‘Mione!”

 

“What?” she called from the other room, sounding distracted. “Ron, have you seen my pamphlets for HSS?”

 

He winced at the thought of her latest cause, “Nope!” Merlin but he’d hoped for a quiet day in after the way they’d tied it on the night before. Now it looked like he’d be dragged out to the park to hand out pamphlets while Hermione lectured passersby until she was hoarse. 

 

Their normal Sunday, in other words. Ron smiled fondly; Hermione made even righteous causes fun.

 

“Odd, I thought I left them in here.” She came into the sitting room cum kitchen, “What were you shouting my name for?”

 

He waved his mobile at her, “Did you see this text from bloody Malfoy in the group chat? Came through earlier, guess I didn’t hear it.”

 

“No,” she said, lifting his feet to peer under them, “Oh... _ Ronald,  _ there are my pamphlets! You’ve creased them with your gigantic feet!”

 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, trying to flatten them out. The pamphlets, that was, not his feet. Flattening would only make them bigger. Hoping to distract her, he held out his mobile, “Look! Malfoy sent a message earlier:  **_Who do I have to fuck around here to get some McDonald’s?_ ** ” Malfoy really was bald as anything. Come to think of it he got like this every weekend after they’d all been out drinking. His bad manners just got worse when he had had too much Firewhisky.

 

Hermione frowned, and he remembered she didn’t approve of him cursing. But since it was a quote of someone else’s words, he supposed he was alright. Malfoy’d be in for it next time ‘Mione got him. That was alright though. Malfoy was used to unpleasantness. Being a former Death Eater and all. Though they were supposed to forgive and forget all that. “Yes, of course I saw it, Ron. You would too if you would turn the sound on after you’re up for the day. I suppose as usual everyone answered except for Neville.”

 

“Yeah that’s--” Ron stopped, struck by her amused, knowing tone, “What do you mean, ‘as usual’?”

 

Hermione gave him that faintly pitying look she got sometimes, as if he were too slow, but she loved him anyway. “It’s the same pattern. Every Saturday we go out to drink and every Sunday Draco sends a rather ribald request for someone to rescue him with food. Everyone always sends back a joking reply--except for Neville. Have you never really noticed?”

 

Afraid she’d think he was thick, Ron hurried to assure her he’d noticed. “What’s er...I mean…”

 

_ “Honestly, _ Ron,” Hermione sighed, but her look held a small smile, as if she thought he was rather an old dear. “They’ve been shagging for simply ages.” She laughed, looking less stressed; momentarily forgetting her pamphlets, Hermione perched on his knee, putting a fond arm around his neck, “You must be the last to know.”

  
  



End file.
